Nothing to Lose
by alinaandalion
Summary: It starts with his fingers wrapped around her wrist.


"_The minute you realize it's no longer exactly the way it used to be, from then on it's even more different."_

_ - The Uncoupling by Meg Wolitzer_

* * *

It starts with his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

It's their third late night in a row because this case is wrapped up in intrigue and shifted responsibility, and Donna doesn't believe in letting Harvey stay up for hours on end without her supervision. And at this point in the game, Harvey prefers her help to Mike's, if only because Donna's habits don't annoy him.

So Donna sits across the desk from Harvey and keeps their files organized when she's not helping with making notes and talking different points through with him.

She really is wasted as his executive assistant, but he wouldn't be able to do any of this without her.

That thought catches in the forefront of his mind as he stares down at the small print in front of him filtered through dim lamplight. He lets it go pretty quickly, doesn't say anything, because it will only make Donna roll her eyes with a muttered _of course_.

"I'm going home," Donna announces abruptly, pushing the folders in front of her to the side and getting to her feet.

Harvey flicks his eyes up at her, catches the bend of her back as she stretches, and bites the inside of his cheek to keep from noticing anything else. "Okay. I'll see you in the morning."

Donna moves around him quietly, gathering her heels from the corner of the room where she had flung them earlier, pulling her jacket off the back of Harvey's chair. His fingers itch as he watches her from the corner of his eye, and when she reaches across him for her purse that was dumped on the far side of his desk, he grabs her wrist without thinking.

They freeze almost at the same time. A few seconds pass, and he breathes. She starts to pull away, and he tightens his fingers on instinct. His thumb rests on her pulse point, feels the thrum of her blood right underneath her skin; he looks down at where he holds her.

Harvey is so used to seeing Donna as a force of nature that he forgets how _small_ she is, with pale skin that bruises too easily, delicate bones that feel so fragile.

He forgets sometimes that she is breakable; he forgets how _easy_ it can be to hurt her.

"I, um—I need you to move my morning meeting to tomorrow afternoon," he says finally, throat dry and tight as he lets her go.

A long string of heartbeats follows after, and she finally replies with a simple, "Okay," her voice unsteady and cracking around the edges.

Reaching across his desk, Harvey grabs her purse and offers it to her. Donna takes it with a small smile and heads for the door. He watches the dim light catch in her slightly tangled red hair, and he nearly chokes on the tempting promise of _maybe_ that only surfaces when he lets his guard down and forgets how this works, how he is Harvey and she is Donna and there are rules and too many years to change anything now.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and counts the seconds until he can look at her again.

"Harvey?"

His eyes snap open. "Yeah?"

Donna stares at him from across the room, uncertainty shining in her eyes as she worries at her bottom lip. Then she straightens her spine and it's like a curtain sweeps down between them.

"Try to get some sleep tonight."

"Yeah, I'll have to see how it goes."

He manages a small smile, and she returns it. Then she leaves, and Harvey watches her walk away through the glass walls.

* * *

"Long night?"

Harvey looks up to find Donna beside him, leaning on the table he's been occupying for the last five minutes while he passes a half-full glass of scotch from palm to palm.

He smiles at her wryly and shakes his head. "Just needed a break. Rubbing elbows with all these important people is hard work."

"Poor Harvey," Donna clucks, rolling her eyes and nudging his hip with hers.

His eyes fall to her pale gold dress that opens in the back, loosely curled hair falling across freckled skin that he has to shove a hand in his pocket to keep from touching. It's never a surprise to him to notice how beautiful she is. It's pretty much just a fact of life; it's the desire that springs to life at all the wrong times: company parties, quiet nights, and moments when she bursts into his office with the latest gossip, that throw him back on his heels.

He knows better, though. Neither of them walks the straight and narrow but it's still a fine line they balance their lives on.

Donna sways into him again, catching herself with a palm splayed over his chest, and he can't tell if she's flirting or drunk. Or both. She's always bolder like this, like she is armored in steel rather than silk and diamond earrings.

"You owe me a drink," she murmurs as she straightens his tie and smoothes it down against his shirt.

With a shrug, he gestures to the glass he still has his fingers wrapped around. She curls her hand over his; warmth spreads through him, and he smiles down at her as she ducks her head away and plucks the drink from his grasp.

He watches her sip the scotch slowly, her head tipped back and her long white neck exposed in an unbroken line, and the firm reminder of _someday_ burns acridly in the back of his mouth.

* * *

He curls his fingers in her red hair, her back against his door, and he suddenly fumbles, hesitant, like those days when he was in high school with his first girlfriend stealing a few minutes in the back of his car.

Donna turns her mouth to him, whiskey on her breath, and even though this isn't the first time they've kissed tonight, Harvey still feels unprepared, swept away with the soft lips pressing against his, a tiny moan that catches in the back of her throat.

"_Donna_," he breathes when he pulls back, fingers wrapping around her hips and pulling her closer, closer until he can almost feel every inch of her.

She stares up at him and says quietly, "Harvey?"

She doesn't need to say anything else because he knows, he _knows._ There are two choices here: to go forward or to go back, and nothing will ever be the same after. He almost calls a halt to everything right at that moment. Because he can't see a time in his life when he won't _need_ Donna with him but he doesn't know what that means for right now.

But then something flares in her eyes, and she rocks forward, pulling his head down to hers and kissing him, pushing her tongue into his mouth and arching up into him, hands suddenly everywhere as if she's been waiting just as long, been watching and wishing and denying herself.

He gives in because this is who they've always been and always will be, and it's messy and real and _right._


End file.
